


Leverage

by orphan_account



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the reason why Nick wasn't answering his phone in the previous fic, Letting Go.<a id="cutid1" name="cutid1"></a></p><p> </p><p>“However he acknowledged that there were “many things that the Liberal Democrats had had to swallow that are very difficult for them” in order to achieve the agreement.</p><p>“Just as there are things like holding a referendum on the new voting system that are very difficult for the Conservatives to accept,” Mr Hague said.</p><p>“That means that there are some people in both parties who quietly wish it hadn’t happened.””~*~</p><p>[The Times, http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/politics/article7123701.ece]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leverage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Letting Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/288447) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Leverage  
> Title: Leverage  
> Author: hobnailedboots   
> Characters/Pairings: Clameron, Nick Clegg, David Cameron  
> Rating: R  
> Word Count: 850ish  
> Spoilers:   
> Warnings: PUNS.  
> Summary: This is the reason why Nick wasn't answering his phone in the previous fic, Letting Go.

“Nick, Nick, I can't hold on much longer,” says Brown to a dialling tone. But it's Nick that can hardly hold on, it's Nick who is backed up against the back of the git's posh upper-class armchair with his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Not the hair,” Cameron says sharply, before returning to his task. In the rush of mad sensations tumbling through his head, Clegg notes the irony of the situation: every daily newspaper has in the last week contained at least one cartoon depicting Cameron or Brown as _his_ whore. 

The immaculate poise Cameron displays as he sucks Nick's cock is remarkable, and Clegg envies him for it. Cameron will simply be able to stand up, brush dust from his knees, attach his trophy wife to his arm and walk into Downing Street once this is over. Clegg will remain flustered for quite some time.

What is also annoying – well, less annoying and more fucking brilliant – is the way Cameron works. He goes at it like the competition it is, taking as much in his mouth as he can, treating him with the skill of an artist but the passion of an undertaker. It's sobering to remember that this is all politics.

In seconds Nick has regained some semblance of control.

“Proportional representation,” he pants. It's one thing he hasn't managed to concede thus far in the whirlwind of meetings they have had. He's already ditched Vince, and given up on the issue of immigration. It is also, he's now decided, quite cool to rule a country that has nuclear weapons. What is this Oxford Tory lunatic _doing_ to him?

The wet heat enveloping his cock disappears, and Clegg is disappointed in himself for sticking to his principles. He's already doomed anyway, he thinks. Yes, proportional representation helps the Lib Dems, but no genuine Liberal is going to vote for them any more after they've defied expectations and shacked up – literally – with the Tories.

“Referendum?”

“Come on, _Dave_ , you know the public don't really have a clue. Push it through the Houses and I'll buy George his very own maths tutor.”

“Don't call me Dave.”

“PR.”

"I could just go with a minority,” Cameron reminds him, licking a stripe up his cock.

“You . . . oh, do that again . . . you need me in government, otherwise you're weak. I'll get you past the post first.”

Finally, some emotion. Cameron chuckles in the back of his throat and the vibrations are electricity.

“Is that a promise?” he asks, a hint of a smile on that smug Etonian face, and in a fraction of a second David is standing, is grabbing his shoulders and pushing his back into the wall, whilst somehow at the same time unzipping his trousers.

Nick's heart catches in his throat as David – who has plainly been hard for some time – moves against him. The change between the Cameron who had been sucking his cock just like in all those other negotiations – though he had done it very well, mind you – and the Cameron whose eyes were boring into his and whose fingers were digging into his shoulders, is astounding.

“Really, if I'd known _puns_ were the way to get the upper hand, I'd have done this days ago. Tell me, David, are you a master of the whip system?”

The 'David' makes him gasp with pleasure, but the pun makes him groan in exasperation.

“Shut up, Clegg.”

“But I thought I was your favourite joke?”

Cameron doesn't deign that with an answer. Nick (somewhat disgruntled by the way that yes, Cameron at least seems to be feeling something now, and yes, his eyes are no longer utterly cold and dead like the conscience of the party which he leads, but Cameron has also stopped  _talking_ to him, and this is ridiculous because in the group negotiations he will hardly  _shut UP_ ) needles him some more.

“Don't you like your parliament well hung?”

A smile. Well, the corner of his mouth twitches, at least.

“I said, shut up.”

“You're quite – ah – touchy,” noted Clegg, as David slowed his movements, moving against him in a delicious friction that Clegg couldn't stop himself interrupting. “would you like to enter my chamber?”

“Clegg. Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” grunted Cameron, grabbing Nick's hands from where they were heading, and slamming them up against the wall before kissing him.

He _still_ wasn't able to touch his hair.


End file.
